


Forget-me-not

by freckles42



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: smutty_claus, F/M, Frottage, Light Bondage, Muggles, mild exhibitionism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-05
Updated: 2014-05-05
Packaged: 2018-01-22 00:22:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1569173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freckles42/pseuds/freckles42
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Muggle!Ted runs into a beautiful girl and she proves to be everything he couldn't remember.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forget-me-not

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ragdoll](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ragdoll/gifts).



> Originally written for ragdoll in the 2007 smutty_claus exchange.

The first thing Ted Tonks noticed about the woman across the discotheque from him was her blue hair – it was almost the colour of forget-me-nots. Plenty of girls wore wigs these days, and it seemed each colour meant something different. This girl’s hair didn’t behave like a wig, though. It was long and swayed naturally as she danced on the platform, miniskirt and tights showing off some very nice legs. He was not normally a very brave man but several pints of bitter and a few shots of something vile gave him false courage.

He checked his sideburns and moustache – sideburns thick, moustache thin – in the reflection off the bar before making his way to her. She moved so sinuously, almost lost in her own world. He wondered if she was high – not improbable, honestly, considering. It seemed more than that, though; like she knew that no one would care or even notice her.

But he had noticed her.

He tapped her on the shoulder and gave her his best, crooked smile. She danced a few more measures before turning to face him. She didn’t look angry or annoyed – definitely a good start – but she was looking at him almost like he was an unexpected oddity. She laughed and dipped her body in time to the beat, and he could see that her hair was indeed blue – seemingly all the way down to her roots. 

"Hullo," she said easily, taking his hand and pulling him towards her. "And what’s your name?" Her accent seemed to be from north of London – well educated, slightly aristocratic – and her surprisingly straight teeth confirmed that she had money (or possibly a dentist for a father). Well, he hadn’t expected that, but she was friendly enough and he liked the casual way she moved, almost like he was an old friend that she’d been expecting.

"I’m Ted," he said, starting to dance a little. "Ted Tonks." She held a hand up and he took the cue, spinning her under his arm. She laughed as she twirled.

"I’m Andromeda," she said with a broad smile that warmed his heart more than any pints had. "But you can call me Andy, Ted Tonks." She caught his hand and pulled him close, resting her head on his breast. He was surprised by the sudden gesture of intimacy but knew a good thing when he saw it, letting his hands slide across her back. 

"It’s lovely to meet you, Andy," Ted said, dancing with her, already loving the feel of her body against his.

"I’ve been waiting for you," she murmured, smiling. "Shouldn’t you have been in armor?"

"I’m no Arthur," Ted said, fingers stroking her hair – oh, it was _definitely_ real. He could play with that hair forever.

"I’m not much of a Guenevere," she agreed, glancing up at him with a mysterious smile. "I’m more of a Merlin. Perhaps you can be the lady and I will be the magician."

"I might make a decent Lancelot," Ted allowed, rocking with the beat. "But then, who is Arthur?"

Andromeda laughed and shook her head. "In love with the washer woman. I need no king, but perhaps you can keep a magician company for a few hours."

* * *

They barely made it back to his dingy flat in the East End before she was pulling his clothes off him, discarding his ridiculous cravat and waistcoat to one side. She grinned at him and stepped back.

"Go pour us a bottle of wine. I need to freshen up." She scampered off to his bathroom, needing no directions. He went to his small fridge and prayed there was a bottle somewhere in there – sure enough, right next to half a block of cheese and some unidentifiable green things there was a small bottle of white wine. He poured two glasses for them in whisky tumblers (he did not own wineglasses nor did he particularly see the point) and set them out on the table. He took a quick minute to tidy up the flat a little and get the more embarrassing items hidden away, like his dirty magazines. He had started collecting them when he was a teen and now it had turned into a bit of an obsession. He hardly even wanked to them anymore; they were almost like snippets of history and he was fascinated by the change in styles and fashions that he’d seen over the previous ten years.

Ted Tonks was a bit of a historian, even if the subject matter would have horrified his mother.

Andy emerged from the bathroom, her heart-shaped face framed by a modest brown bob. She was wearing the same outfit but the change in hair colour was striking enough. He thought she was beautiful anyway.

"Nice trick," he said, holding up a glass for her, smiling. She came forward and accepted it.

"Thank you," she said. She sipped from the glass, watching him over the rim. He grinned at her and she laughed. "I love your smile," she admitted, stepping back into his bedroom – well, around the partition that closed off his "bedroom" from the rest of the flat. Her eyes beckoned to him and he followed eagerly.

"Can I get you anything?" he asked as she sat on his bed. She set her wine aside and began to unbutton her dress.

"You can get naked," she said, pausing to unzip her boots and tucking them under his bed. She wasn’t wearing a bra that he could see but her tits were small enough that she probably didn’t need it. "Come on, time’s wasting." She laughed and reached for a tie that was hooked over one of the bedposts. "I bet you’d like to have some fun, wouldn’t you?" She wrapped the silk around her wrist casually and arched her eyebrows at him. 

"Well?"

"You are a liberated woman, I see," he said, setting his own glass down atop his dingy bureau before starting to undo his shirt. A woman who liked to be tied up, perhaps? She really was something else.

"Not as liberated as I’d like," she said, seeming to withdraw momentarily before perking up and giving him a wicked grin. "But I bet you can fix that, can’t you?"

He laughed as he shrugged out of his shirt, hanging it over the bureau. "I can certainly try," he said.

"Come on, then" she said. "Let’s see what you’ve got." She chuckled, voice husky. She hooked her fingers through his belt loops, and he fell backwards onto the bed with her. Her sly smile turned seductive and she pulled him close, arching up against him, lips just barely brushing his. She murmured something he couldn’t quite catch, but he was quickly distracted by her roaming fingers. She was eager- that was certain and Ted had a momentary flash of another eager girl – one whom he couldn’t quite place.

He grunted, attention turning to the gorgeous creature beneath him, whose fingers were slipping down to his trousers, palming his half-hard cock through a thin layer of fabric. His hands went to her shoulders and pushed back the dress she’d opened, fingers sliding along her smooth, pale skin. She had a string of freckles running down her arm, almost like a constellation. A street light flickered, which drew Ted’s attention to the open window. He reached for the curtains over the side of the bed, meaning to close out the light from the street and preserve her dignity and keep her for his own. Her hand stayed his, though, slim fingers slipping around his wrist.

"Leave it," she murmured. "Let them watch. I want them to see." 

He wanted to ask who "they" were but her lips distracted him, kissing him and drawing him back to the bed.

To be fair, he wasn’t entirely certain that he wanted his neighbors to see them, but that thought quickly slipped from his mind when he pushed off her dress the rest of the way. She wasn’t wearing a bra, as he’d suspected, and her panties were tiny little knickers that clung to her hips, sitting low. Her skin had a strange orange hue to it in the sickly sodium streetlights. This was the kind of woman that would like to be seen with, whether or not being seen with her included his pasty arse in the air.

She ran her fingers along his neck in an almost-familiar way, sending a shiver down his spine.

"Now, now," she said, smirking at him. "Surely it’s not fair that I am undressed and you still have your trousers on." Her fingers began to work at his belt tugging at the leather and unfastening him. She slipped his belt from its holdings and looped it around over the top of his bed frame, hooking her own wrists through the leather. Her dress lay beneath her, like a chrysalis that she’d cracked open, and he simply couldn’t stop staring. 

"Wouldn’t want you to feel left out," he said agreeably, a small smile creasing his face. He stood and stripped down, trousers crumpling to the floor, leaving him in his jockeys, exposed to the draughty air. She wiggled on his bed in a way that sent a knot to his throat and made him wish he had better than the box spring directly on the floor. She deserved better than a quick shag practically on the floor of a dingy flat in the East End. 

"Come on, lover," she murmured, fingers tightening on his belt, small breasts exposed to him. He could see a wet spot forming between her legs and oh, how he wanted to freeze that moment. He’d never met a woman quite like her.

"I’m all yours," he said, crawling atop her and pressing his erection against her crotch, their underpants separating them as he kissed her – softly at first, then more insistently as she arched her hips up, rubbing against him. He grunted into her mouth, hand going beneath her back as the ground against each other, friction building, making him flushed in the cool air. His lips found her neck, her jaw, her earlobe, and that lovely little curve where her neck met her shoulder. He kissed every pale freckle he could find before he moved his way down to her tits, sucking and teasing, tongue swirling. The way she moved beneath him was intoxicating – she seemed to be putting every muscle to use, tensing, relaxing, arching, perpetually in motion as he focused entirely on her, on the sensations between them.

She let out a whimper, hand going down between them in a rush, pushing into his pants and wrapping around his cock. He grunted and paused, momentarily distracted. "Andy?" he asked, his tone full of all sorts of questions.

"In me," she gasped, pulling his cock out. "Need you, love, oh _Ted_." He could feel her fingers moving, pushing her knickers aside and pulling his prick up against her labia. " _Please_ ," she insisted.

He couldn’t resist that. How could any man? He pushed forward into her and sighed happily. He knew he was not the biggest man by any stretch of the imagination (to be honest, he was barely average on the best of days), but she felt _perfect_ around him. 

"Oh, love. That’s it," she sighed happily, legs wrapping around the back of his legs. "Now kindly move."

"Bossy," he said with a quiet laugh and began to slide in and out of her, hand beneath her back, supporting her. He watched her face (okay, and her tits) while he slowly fucked her. She had the most intense look on her face, eyes closed tightly, a smile on the verge of gracing her lips – she looked almost innocent in that moment. He was reminded of the looks of fellow churchgoers in sincere prayer.

They stayed like that for hours, slowly learning throughout the night.

* * *

In the early hours of the morning, they sat and talked, each with a tumbler of wine in hand. He’d loaned her one of his old shirts so she wouldn’t catch a chill, and had pulled on one of his own, as well.

"You are a handsome man, Ted." 

He grinned at her. "If I’m handsome, then you’re as beautiful as a stained glass window," he said, reaching out and brushing a strand of hair out of her face. She sighed happily and turned her face towards his touch.

"Mm, I’ve missed that," she said, her eyes still closed. "Do it again."

He did, setting his glass of wine down, unable to draw his eyes away from her. She had a sprinkle of freckles across her nose, and her lips were dark compared to the rest of her face. She had removed the sparkling eye shadow that she’d been wearing in the club, but there were still traces of the glimmer on her cheeks. He rubbed a thumb over her cheekbone. It was an almost-familiar action.

Andy scooted closer and wrapped her arms around him, resting her head against his collarbone. Ted stroked her back and held her close, quiet. There was something very familiar about all this, but what? He’d never met anyone like Andy before. He felt her quake unexpectedly in his arms and he looked down at her, concerned.

"Andy?" he asked cautiously. 

"They’ll kill us both," she cried into his shirt, her sudden sob surprising him. "They’ll kill you, Ted, and they’ll kill me. They said I wasn’t to see you again but I couldn’t – I _couldn’t_ leave you. I shouldn’t be saying anything now but _oh_ , I love you and I couldn’t let you go."

"Whoa, whoa," Ted said, still holding her. "What’s all this about? Who’s going to kill you? And what do you mean about us? I’ve not met you before, though I wish I had," he said earnestly. Something was off – she almost seemed unbalanced, but yet they’d spent hours without her seeming to be troubled. He couldn’t quite bring himself to let go of her, either. What was it? Something kept pricking at the edges of his mind.

"Every week, you always choose me," she sniffled into his chest. "I’ll dress differently and you always find me. It’s meant to be, Ted, and every week they make you forget!"

"Who makes me forget? What are you talking about?"

Andy shook her head. "They’ll kill us both."

"Well, I won’t let that happen," he said, gently disengaging from her. "Come on, calm down and we’ll talk. I’ll make us tea."

"Tea," she said, laughing through her tears. "Ted, you are altogether English. All right, I’ll sit. And two lumps of sugar, please, and some lemon. You always forget the lemon."

"If I do, that’s because I hate lemon," Ted said honestly, going to the kitchen and starting a kettle of water. He could see her from the sink. "So what’s all this about, then? Start from the beginning."

"We met six months ago," Andy said, tucking her legs under her on the bed, shifting to avoid a spring that was pushing against her butt. "You had just started your job with the Bank of England and we met at the club, like tonight. Except that my hair was pink and you told me it was a hideous colour on me and that is how you introduced yourself." She smiled at the apparent memory.

"My parents did not approve and so they arranged to have your memory wiped and to remove me from you forever." She wiped at her eyes. "This was about a month ago, right after I’d finished my apprenticeship. We were supposed to move in together. My parents, they – they made _us_ cease to exist. But I’ve been sneaking out every weekend to meet you again, and every weekend you’ve approached me. And of course I’ve gone home with you but then, in the morning – " she cut herself off, shaking her head. "I’d be back in my room and when I’d ring you, you’d have no recollection of me." 

"That’s a hell of a story," Ted said slowly. She didn’t sound like she was lying – he knew what liars sounded like; he dealt with them every day at work. She might be sincere, but he really doubted she had her facts right. After all, how could someone have his or her memory erased? That sounded ludicrous, short of some strange drug programme. He stood up straighter, eyes narrowing.

"They’re not using _drugs_ on me, are they?" he hissed. Unlike many of his friends, he had zero desire to do drugs. Alcohol was his one vice. He did not think drugs were going to do him any good in the long run. He definitely did not appreciate the thought of someone doping him.

Andy let out a laugh. "No, Ted, you adorable fool, they’re not. It’s magic." She made a little gesture in the air - which he supposed was supposed to indicate such nonsense.

He laughed at that. "All right, magic. Sure, if that’s what they’re calling it."

"No, I mean it," Andy insisted. She fished a piece of wood out of her boot. "This is a wand," she explained. "I do magic with it."

"Like a magic act? Are you going to pull a rabbit out of your top, then?" he asked. "That’s a strange-looking wand, by the way. Aren’t they supposed to be black with white tips?"

She let out an exasperated sigh, then tapped her tumbler, transfiguring it into an elegant wineglass.

Ted took a step back – an impressive feat in his miniscule kitchen – jaw agape.

"You - _what?_ " he stammered, getting a grip on the counter. "How did you do that? Am I drugged right now?"

"No, you fool," Andy said. "I’m a witch. And you were in love with me until some wizards decided to wipe your mind so you wouldn’t remember me. That way my family could go on with my arranged engagement. The only thing they didn’t count on was me loving you."

"But you turned a tumbler into a wine glass," he protested weakly, still caught up on that fact. "How?"

"Magic’s complicated, Ted," Andy said, putting her wand away. "Come here," she urged him gently, patting the bed beside her. He complied slowly, not knowing what else to do. He sank down onto the mattress and looked at his knees, thinking hard.

"If," he said, raising his eyes to her, " _if_ what you say is true, then you would know things about me that no one else would know."

"I know about your birthmark in the shape of Brazil on your upper right thigh that only shows up when you get a tan," she said. "There’s the mole you had by your ear that you got removed three months ago because of your damned vanity." She smiled. "You rode your tricycle two miles towards Westminster when you were four because you wanted to go see the coronation of the Queen. Your father was a milkman and he had to chase you down in his milk truck, nearly running you over in the process. You’ve still got a scar on your left leg from that, though it’s not as visible as you think it is. And I know that you fit inside me perfectly, which I’ve never had before. Everyone else hurts me because they bottom out. You were so self-conscious about your size and yet you are the perfect fit for me, Ted. You always have been." 

He shook his head slowly. She did seem to know all sorts of things about him, but couldn’t there be a better explanation? Magic and memory wipes were so _illogical_. He continued to stare off into space.

"Ted?" she asked hesitantly. "Are we – are you – do you remember?" She paused, then offered her wrist to him. He looked at it inquiringly – what did she want him to do?

She lifted her wrist a bit. "Sniff it," she said quietly.

He did, and was hit by a train.

The smell of lavender and baby powder triggered memory upon memory – picnics on the green, hillwalking in Surrey, taking a private boat ride along the Thames during the brackish high tide, the smell of salt around them. There had been birthday shopping and flat hunting – he had bought an opal necklace for her and she wore it every day. There were daffodils and they had made love a dozen times in the garden behind a neighbour’s house, knowing they could be caught. She had done magic for him, making him literally see fireworks when he came inside her, and she would quake above him, small tits glistening with dew from the grass.

"Oh my God," he managed, barely registering the tears on his face.

"You remember," she whispered.

"Yes," he said. "I remember – how could I have forgot?"

"Magic is powerful," she said, scooting towards him.

"Love is more powerful than any magic," he responded, pulling her in close, mind still reeling from the revelations, every little moment of the night suddenly coming together. "I can be your family, Andy."


End file.
